


A Beautiful Friendship

by sgamadison



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - High School, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 07:11:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3641361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk is on a trip to Vulcan with his sixth grade class, at a time when tension between Vulcan and the Federation is high. There is talk of Vulcan withdrawing from the Federation, so naturally, the school children have been told to be on their absolute best behavior...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beautiful Friendship

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenic76](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=selenic76).



> This story has been decades in the making. I first got the idea for it after watching an episode of Star Trek: The Animated Series titled "Yesteryear", in which Spock must travel back in time to prevent his seven-year-old self from being killed. At the time, I imagined what it would have been like for Young Kirk and Young Spock to meet. Later, I played around with the idea of making Kirk the one who intervenes to save Spock's life, as well as what might have happened if Vulcan had been on the verge of seceding from the Federation at the time. In its various versions, I wanted to include Tuvok from Voyager, and T'Pol from Enterprise, but in the end, I decided not to muck with the timeline too much! This is a gift story for the delightful and warm-hearted selenic76, as well as an entry into the Plot Bunny Dustoff Challenge, and is meant to be a tribute to the memory of Leonard Nimoy, and how much the Star Trek universe has meant to me over the years. Much thanks to wanted_a_pony, arwenoak, and starry-diadem for their invaluable input into the story--especially for Arwen in pointing out how this event could be a turning point in young Kirk's life. As I am an inveterate last minute tweaker, however, all mistakes are mine.

Jim hunkered down in his shuttle seat, listening to the classroom assignment though his ear buds while simultaneously going for the high score on _Invaders from Karstan_. His teacher frowned upon playing video games during class trips, but a long time ago she’d learned the best way to keep Jim out of trouble was to let him occupy himself with the least destructive of all his choices. He had the sound turned down, so as not to call undue attention to himself, which also allowed Ms. Granger to pretend she didn’t know he was playing it; a fiction that had served them both well in the past. He was even more likely to get away with it today, as their class wasn’t the only one aboard the shuttle. There was a group of older teens and college students as well.

Testing his limits to see what else he could get away with, Jim also intermittently kicked the seat in front of him. He’d calculated it to a nicety, just how often he could kick to be truly annoying, without giving little Miss Know It All, Emily Callahan, reason to complain to the teacher.

Jim Kirk was bored. The trip had been incredibly exciting at first—his first time aboard a starship without his parents. Oh sure, they were talking about going to Tarsus IV to spend time with family sometime in the future, but two or three years was forever when all he’d ever wanted to do was go into space, just like his dad. He’d thought this school trip would be the answer to his dreams, but after the initial awe of being on board a spaceship faded—his class had been largely relegated to the ship’s mess and other non-essential areas once the brief tour was over—there had been nothing to do but await their arrival in orbit around Vulcan. There had been a lot of lectures on the Wonders of All Things Vulcan by Ms. Granger. Jim knew a Vulcanophile when he saw one, and he’d tuned out as much of the gushing commentary as possible. Come to think of it, Ms. Granger’s short bob had to be a nod to the typical Vulcan hair style. Jim had also sat through a lot of lectures about how dangerous space travel was, and how great a privilege it was to be allowed onboard a starship. At any rate, he’d managed to get some of the crew members to talk with him a bit. They’d seemed impressed by his encyclopedic memory for details of Federation spaceships, including the standard armament and drive features of each class. The engineer, in particular, had been amused at Jim’s knowledge of their own Daedalus-class vessel.

But now they were finally en route from the ship to Vulcan’s surface via shuttle, and yet Jim was bored. He felt as though he shouldn’t be. This would be his first time standing on an alien planet and he should have been excited about it, but Ms. Granger had made Vulcan and everything on it seem incredibly uninteresting. Blah-blah-blah, logic and science, blah-blah-blah. The shuttle ride was taking longer than expected, too, and there was only so much staring out the viewport at the large orange ball that was Vulcan he could do. He’d asked why they didn’t just transport down in groups of five, but it had been made clear that the group of school children from Earth was a low-priority and that it was a better use of energy to send the entire group via shuttle, especially since Jim’s class wasn’t the only group going down to the surface.

 _Invaders from Karstan_ wasn’t nearly as fun without the _pew-pew-pew_ sound effects of the lasers. When his ship was destroyed just seconds before making the high score, he punched the screen off, disappointed but not interested enough to try another game. Why did the game have sound effects anyway? There was no sound in the vacuum of space. And why did ships still use photon torpedoes and lasers? Why didn’t a ship’s captain just beam a bomb into the heart of his enemy’s ship? He’d have to ask someone. Brushing his heavy forelock out of his eyes, he sighed. No doubt as soon as he got back home, his mother would insist on his getting a crew cut again.

“Your hair grows like a weed,” she’d say, running her fingers through his bangs with an odd mix of admiration and disgust.

“Maybe I should stop putting Miracle-Gro on it.” It was an old joke. He didn’t even know what Miracle Gro was, but it was something his mother had been saying for years.

She’d smile then, and ruffle his hair, sending him about his business. She’d set up the appointment for the haircut just the same, though.

Most of the time, he didn’t mind it. When he had a crew cut, it was easier to pretend he was a starship captain. Only now, he’d noticed that girls seemed to like the shaggy look on him, and he was torn as to what to do. On the one hand, _girls_. Yuck. More often than not, they seemed to be the ones who put a stop to all the fun. They were the first to report him to the teacher, and the least likely to join in on some of his more harebrained ideas. On the other hand, there were a few girls he really liked a lot, Emily not being one of them. Sarah, who lived just down the street, was cool. She rode dirt bikes with her brother and had showed him all the tricks for _Invaders_ , too. He wouldn’t mind Sarah thinking he was kind of cute.

Maybe.

He kicked the seat in front of him for good measure, with a little more enthusiasm than before. The passenger turned around to glare at him angrily from over the back of the chair.

Uh-oh.

It wasn’t Emily. She must have realized Jim would be right behind her, and convinced someone to change seats. The guy in front of him was one of the older students; he had to be in his late teens or early twenties. He had a square jaw with just the hint of a cleft, and dark hair waved back off his forehead like a movie star. His eyes were blue, really blue, an intense shade that was all the more remarkable for his dark coloring. And he was pissed.

“Kick my chair one more time, kid, and I’ll come back there and beat the ever-livin’ snot out of you.”

The accent was unmistakable. Deep South, probably Georgia. Jim’s lifetime of experience on the playground had taught him Southern boys weren’t afraid to fight and fought dirty as well. He folded his arms across his chest before speaking. “No, you won’t.”

Georgia looked briefly astonished, then frowned. “What makes you think I won’t come teach you a lesson in manners?”

Jim smiled, knowing it would just piss Georgia off even further. “You can’t. I’d like to see you try.”

“Cocky little son-of-a-gun, aren’t you? Okay, I’ll bite, why can’t I beat you up? I’m bigger and stronger than you.”

“Right,” said Jim, letting his smugness out to play. “So if you beat me up, everyone will be on your case about how you picked on the little twelve-year-old boy, shame on you. And if I beat you up, you’ll be too embarrassed to tell anyone.” He stuck out his tongue, just because.

Georgia choked on a snort, turned it into a glare, and settled himself back in his seat. Jim kicked the back of it one more time, just to prove he could. A hand appeared over the top of the chair, middle finger straight up in the air. Jim snickered. A parting shot from a vanquished enemy. He went back to staring at the planet slowly filling the viewport. He could feel the majesty of the planet calling to him, the marvel of the universe and the beauty of the stars, and for a time, he was content to be still.

Finally, _finally_ they landed on Vulcan.

As soon as the passenger lights went green, people began standing up and checking their seats for their belongings.

“Attention, students!” Ms. Granger’s voice sliced through the commotion like a laser cutter. Even the older students fell silent. “Ms. Granger’s sixth grade class will line up on the platform when we disembark. No one is to leave the platform! You will each be assigned to a tour party and a guide. You are to stay with your guides at all times and not leave the group, am I perfectly clear? I want to take this time to re-iterate what a privilege and an honor it is for you to be here today as representatives of your planets. As you know, the Vulcan High Council is strongly considering withdrawing from the Federation. Should that be the case, you will be one of the first—and the last—groups of off-worlders to visit this amazing planet. I cannot stress to you enough that you are currently ambassadors of your worlds to the people of Vulcan. Please do not to anything to embarrass your governments, or make the Vulcans believe that ceding from the Federation is the right thing to do.”

As they were filing out into the aisle, Georgia leaned over and drawled, “So why am I thinking that little speech was aimed at you, kid?”

****

“I do not understand.”

“Your father would say, ‘understanding is not required’, Spock.” His mother sounded slightly amused, in that way she had of muting her emotions without completely eliminating them. “Suffice to say that he is off-world at the moment, and someone of sufficient diplomatic stature is required to escort our guests on a tour of Vulcan.”

“School children. From Earth.” It would be like taking a pack of domesticated _sehlats_ on a walk. Large and blundering, with six inch fangs, even a tame _sehlat_ could cause trouble. A pack of them could tear a Vulcan apart, even if unintentionally.

“Careful, Spock, your bias is showing.” Slightly reproving now.

He hated hearing that tone in his mother’s voice, and yet he couldn’t admit that, either. “I am merely pointing out that no diplomatic stature of any importance at all is necessary to serve as an escort for these… guests.”

“Exactly. I’m glad you see it my way. Please meet your group at the Eastside Shuttle Landing. They’re waiting for you.”

He walked right into that one, didn’t he? For someone who was often extremely illogical, his mother certainly knew how to play the game with subtlety and style.

****

He wasn’t bored now. Jim could hardly contain his excitement. The moment he’d disembarked from the shuttle, he could _feel_ how different the planet beneath him was. To start with, the air was thinner, and several times he had to make himself slow down so he wouldn’t run out of breath. It shimmered with dust, as well, and was hot like a furnace. Ms. Granger had fluttered among them, making sure everyone had sunscreen, and handing out breathers in case they were needed. Jim had taken one along with the others, but wasn’t wearing it. He didn’t want anything between him and his off-world experience, if possible.

The ground sucked at his feet, despite the soil being loose and powdery from the dry air. The higher gravity made it feel like he was wearing lead boots. After a few hours of walking around dirtside, his legs would probably ache. He wondered about the kind of people who didn’t just live here but had been born here, carved by sun and sand into something stronger, tougher than he knew. Too bad Ms. Granger had made them all sound like sticks in the mud. Especially with her yammering on and on about the possibility of them leaving the Federation. Let them. The Federation didn’t need any pointy-eared Know-it-Alls telling them what to do. He bet Emily would wet her pants when she met their guide. Too bad for Ms. Granger and Emily both; Jim knew their fawning admiration would drive the Vulcans batty, whether the Vulcans would admit it or not. They didn’t have to admit it, really. They would just look at you with the expression of a cat that had smelled something bad, and you just _knew_.

As though thinking of her conjured her up, Ms. Granger stepped out of the crowd and grabbed him by the collar. “You’re sticking close to me, Mr. Kirk.” Her voice promised dire consequences for him if he even thought about getting into trouble. It wasn’t fair; he was going to have to spend the whole trip under her watchful eye, and listening to her and Emily embarrass themselves in front of the Vulcans. Gag.  
Sullenly, he let Ms. Granger drag him along in her wake. Soon, however, she became engrossed in sorting out which party was going where with the handful of parents who’d come along to help supervise. Jim was able to drift a little outside Ms. Granger’s radius. Not so much as to trigger her perimeter alert alarms, but just enough to watch Georgia repack his knapsack.

“So, what are you here for?” Jim asked.

Georgia gave him the stink-eye, but then relaxed when he saw it was just idle curiosity. “I’m studying to be a doctor. Vulcan has one of the best xenobiology labs in the quadrant. I’m hoping to get an internship here.”

“I thought they were pulling out of the Federation.”

Georgia hefted his backpack on one shoulder with a shrug. “They might. It would be a damned shame if they do. I’m not saying I hold with their cold-blooded philosophy on life, or their odd politics. They seem to intervene when it suits them and tell the rest of the galaxy to go hang when it suits them as well. Never mind the whole, ‘let’s spy on your world until we decide you’re worthy of meeting us’ bullshit. On the other hand, they have some of the greatest minds and best scientists you’ll find in the galaxy, and I’d sure rather have them _on_ my side than against it.”

Jim digested this information for a moment. Georgia, on hearing his group being paged, lifted a hand in farewell.

“See you around, kid.” He moved off to join his friends.

Jim watched the activity on the platform, noting the cool, calm manner in which their Vulcan guides quickly and easily sorted out their alien sheep. Ms. Granger looked around sharply, saw that he was standing idly on the platform, and went back to her group assignments.

Just then, the most beautiful woman Jim had ever seen strode past, coming from one of the inner-city shuttle monorails. She moved purposefully through the crowd, her copper hair in a short, shining cap around her head, her delicate ears holding the sides back off her face. She was dressed in garb more suited for wearing in the desert-proper than in the city, with a hood that could be pulled up to protect her face, and a goggles slung round her neck. She had a thick pair of gloves tucked under a strap on one arm. As Jim watched, she stopped to speak with a Vulcan dressed in an official uniform. With a short nod, she moved toward a stack of crates. Taking out a scanner, she seemed to confirm they were the inventory she was looking for, and spoke into a communicator attached to the shoulder of her jacket.

Incapable of stopping himself, Jim moved in closer. “Hello.”

She looked up sharply, then glanced behind him at the group of visitors. “You should be with your class.”

Her dismissal was evident in the way she went right back to checking her manifest.

“You’re right,” he said. “Only then the only thing I’ll learn about Vulcans is what my teachers want me to believe. What’s your name? I’m Jim.”

The woman looked at him a long moment. Her hair and skin were the same bronzed color, and she had fine lines at the corners of her eyes from squinting into the sun, but she was still the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. Strong. Elegant. Something both feral and majestic about her. She reminded him of Old Earth cheetahs, those really fast big cats that were now extinct.

“I am called T’La,” she said at last. She shook her head slightly. “I should have known.”

“Should have known what?”

Her mouth twitched. “All of the humans I have met have been most inquisitive. It should not surprise me that children from your world are even more so. What _does_ surprise me is how any of you survive to adulthood.”

Her voice was rich and layered, like a musical instrument, and though her words were not especially kind, nor her expression indulgent, Jim sensed a tolerance in her just the same.

“Kirk, James T.?”

The voice behind him made him turn around. A tall male Vulcan stood holding a tablet, frowning at him. He was dressed in an outfit that looked like some sort of school uniform, rather than the desert gear of the woman in front of him, or the clothing of the people on the street. His tunic was white with blue piping, and a second glance made Jim realize he was fairly young. Or at least, young compared to most of the Vulcans he’d seen thus far.

“That’s me. Only the other way around. James T. Kirk.”

The youth remained impassive. “You have left your group. Please return with me now. You are my responsibility for the afternoon.”

Ms. Granger came over at a trot, looking like a hot and bothered chicken, the way her arms were flailing. She clucked at Jim, too. “James Kirk! I told you not to wander. My apologies, miss, if he bothered you."

T’La’s face, if anything, grew more still, more granite-like. “I am incapable of being bothered.” She walked away without looking back, in the direction of the parked skimmers.

Huh. She looked kind of bothered to Jim. But not because of his questions.

He yelped when Ms. Granger took him by the ear. “Back to your group, mister!”

“Ms. Granger.” The Vulcan didn’t quite express shock, but there was something accusatory in his tone just the same. “Are not the ears of your people quite tender?”

She let go of Jim’s ear as though it had been a hand phaser on overload. “My apologies, Spock. If you only knew how he tries my patience!” She glared daggers at Jim as he followed them back to the others.

To Jim’s surprise, the class had been divided into four tour groups, with several of the older students mixed among them. Apparently, the upperclassmen were going to some of the same institutes that Ms. Granger’s group was attending. Each group was assigned a Vulcan to escort them. Though it was hard to judge Vulcan age, Jim got the impression that most of their guides were on the youthful side. Maybe the older Vulcans had better things to do. Or maybe they didn’t like off-worlders. At any rate, it looked like everyone was being herded toward the monorails. Great, more traveling. When were they going to get to the good stuff?

“You again, already? You’re like a bad penny.” Georgia seemed affable enough when Jim took the seat beside him, tucking his knapsack to one side to make room for Jim.

Spock remained standing as the train pulled out of the station. He began speaking in a monotone, pointing out various sights in city in passing, but instead of monuments and historical markers, they were more along the lines of institutes of study. _Bor-ing_.

Emily beat Jim to it when Spock asked if there were any questions. Naturally, her questions were all designed to show how smart she was.

Spock answered in slow, modulated tones, as though speaking to a three-year-old. Jim smothered a snigger at the idea that maybe Spock thought Emily couldn’t follow his response. As soon as Spock stopped droning on about Emily’s pointless question, Jim piped up.

“What kind of name is Spock?”

A slight furrow creased the young Vulcan’s brow. “My complete Vulcan name is too difficult for most humans to pronounce. Spock is a shortened version of it.”

“You mean, like a nickname? So who nicknamed you? Everyone around here is Vulcan, right? So, how’d you find out humans couldn’t pronounce your name?”

“Mis-ter Kirk!” Ms. Granger snapped out, but before she could continue, Spock raised his hand to stop her.

“Not everyone here is Vulcan. At this time, there are two hundred and thirty seven off-world scientists on the planet, as well as some civilian guests, and diplomats. As well as my mother, who is from Earth.”

“This is Ambassador Sarek’s son, Mr. Kirk. He’s taken time out of his busy schedule to escort us today. Please remember that.” Ms. Granger looked like angry bees might erupt out of her mouth at any time, given the way she had her lips tightly clamped.

Jim got the impression he’d committed some great social sin somehow, but he’d be darned if he knew what he’d done. The Vulcan was simply looking at him, with one eyebrow coolly raised, so Jim went on. “So,do all Vulcan men begin their names with ‘S’? And the women are ‘T’ something? Don’t you guys ever run out of names?”

“Observant little cuss, isn’t he?” Georgia said, in a voice slightly louder than would be used for talking to one’s self.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jim, if you don’t have anything of any importance to say, please be quiet.” Any minute now, Ms. Granger was turn into a harpy, Jim just knew it. Her sharp nose would turn into a beak, and she’d sprout feathers, screeching at him.

Spock leveled a gaze on Ms. Granger that would have been quelling to most people, let alone someone anxiously willing to please him. Jim marveled at how effective it was, and tucked that information away for future use.

“If I may answer the question?” Spock waited a beat before continuing, looking directly at him. “It is true, our ‘nicknames’, as you call them, are constrained by custom depending on gender, though are not as restrictive as you would believe. However, our complete names are quite complex, siting family connections, place of birth, and eventually achievements, as well. The infinite combination of such variables allows for many different variations starting from a similar beginning.”

“Thank you.” Jim found himself responding formally, with a slight nod. Satisfied for the moment, he sat quietly as Spock resumed his dry monologue.

****

His mother’s people had a phrase. _I have created a monster_.

Spock had never understood the idiom before. It always seemed to be used in a situation of exasperation, said in an almost joking manner, when he believed the true origin of the phrase came from the old Earth horror story about Dr. Frankenstein bringing a body back to life. Then again, the fine points between annoyance and exasperation were often lost to him. One seemed to suggest irritation, the other an underlying affection.

Humor, however, was something that often flickered around in the back of Spock’s mind, like flames licking a log on the fire. Not quite strong enough to catch the damp wood and set it burning, but there, just the same. Smoking and fizzling in the background, and one day threatening to go up in a conflagration. Spock was prepared to put it out, if it should ever get that far, but the fact that it existed was worrisome, just the same. And then he had to put the worry out of his mind, as well.

Still, after an hour of the company of humans, and in particular, one James T. Kirk, Spock was beginning to understand the phrase. Having allowed the boy, Kirk, to ask his seemingly irrelevant questions without shutting him down, (once Spock had run out of things to say on the trip), the boy had peppered him with more questions, not all of which Spock could easily answer. Some of the questions were good ones, and in a small way, Spock was relieved to have something to do, to have a defined role as guide. It had been a simple matter to explain that skimmers and air shuttles were not always a practical means of transport on a world subject to frequent and violent sandstorms, some of which could last for days, and discharge electrical energy. Likewise, that there were multiple Centers of Learning on Vulcan, based on the age and level of education of the students, no, they were not going to the Vulcan Institute for the Defensive Arts, yes, there was a difference between the Vulcan Science Academy and the Learning Centers, no, they were not going to the Ministry of Information but that they would be dropping off students at the Medical Institute.

At which point a young man with dark hair, blue eyes, and a peculiar accent had breathed, “Thank God.”

Spock wasn’t sure what deities had to do with it, but maybe it had something to do with the fact the young man was sitting next to the talkative boy, to whom he referred as the Elephant’s Child. Spock was familiar with the story (his mother having quite a Kipling collection). The description suited the boy extremely well.

At one point, the boy had indicated Spock’s insignia, demanding to know what it was.

Spock had fingered his badge. “It is the _Kol-Ut-Shan_. In your language, it means Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. It is the cornerstone of our philosophy. It represents the celebration of the vast array of all variables in the universe.”

“Huh,” the boy had replied. And then had launched into some rather odd questions about whether or not it was possible to beam an important piece of shielding off the warp core of an enemy ship, and why did anyone still use photon torpedoes in space warfare? Spock felt as though he’d been grilled by one of his instructors. Did all human children have such a blood-thirsty nature?

It wasn’t quite relief that Spock felt on arriving at their destination at one of the main monorail stations in the city. Relief was an emotion, after all. What Spock felt was a sense of a duty partially discharged. Some of his party would be going on to the Medical Institute from here. The remainder would tour the Vulcan Learning Center, after which time, he could reasonably be assured the visitors would want to retire to their guest quarters in the consulate, where their baggage had already been forwarded. He had other commitments tomorrow. His mother couldn’t make him pull guide duty again. Weather permitting, he’d take a skimmer from the consulate back home. It would save him valuable time that he needed to go over his presentation one more time. Intellectually, Spock knew it was word-perfect and the science was sound. He also knew, however, his instructors and peers expected a half-human to fail. In everything he did, he had to be better than everyone else, or have it blamed on his heritage. The sooner he got done with these visitors, the better.

They were standing on the boarding platform when disaster struck. The party from Earth was clustered together, gawking a little at the sights and sounds of the alien city around them. A couple of them held breathers over their faces as winds kicked up what his mother called ‘dust devils’ in whirling, spinning clouds around them. The shuttle to take them to the Learning Center had been delayed; a quick check of the weather indicated that several sandstorms had caused congestion in the downtown area, but that the internal shielding was up and the traffic proceeding as normal again. Spock relayed this information to Ms. Granger, who along with most of the adults in the party, was melting in the heat. The children, at least, seemed more resilient, but even as Spock watched, one of them drooped to the ground like a broken flower.

The adults in the group were little more than useless, squawking their distress. Spock was contacting emergency services when the young man with dark hair simply scooped up the little girl and marched her inside the station, the rest of the party following like chicks in his wake. He laid the little girl on one of the benches, loosening her clothing and placing her breather over her face.

“Get me some cold water and a washcloth,” he barked at Spock over his shoulder, without looking around.

Spock did as he was told.

He watched as the young man wiped the little girl’s hands and face with the cool water, tuning out Ms. Granger’s breathless cries of dismay and concern. At least the man appeared to have some medical training. “Should I call for medical assistance?” Spock asked, just as the girl opened her eyes.

She looked panicked, like a wild animal caught in a trap. It had to be a terrible way to live, always at the mercy of emotions. Spock noted his own heart rate was slightly elevated and took steps to bring it back under control.

“No, I don’t think so. I think she just got a little overheated, right, Emily?” The young man smiled with what Spock believed to be extreme cheerfulness, a toothy expression that should have been terrifying, but seemed to calm the girl. “I think we should all wait in here for the shuttle to arrive, out of the heat for a while. Ms. Granger, is it? Could you see to it that all the children drink some water and wear their breathers for a while? That goes for you adults, too.”

For the first time, Spock became aware of how excessively damp and weary his charges looked, and he realized he should have been keeping better watch on their general well-being.

“You guys don’t go much in for air conditioning, do you?” The young man smiled at Spock.

“Artificial environments are not energy effective, nor do they facilitate acclimation. Most of our older buildings are made of stone, which acts as shielding against the heat, and our scientists have designed efficient means of deflecting the sun’s rays and storing the solar energy. But in the end, we live here. We must adapt. You seem less affected by the others.”

“Well, now,” the young man drawled. “That’s because I’m from Georgia. You think it’s hot here? Let me tell you, at least it’s a _dry_ heat.” He spoke as though Spock would get the context of his meaning, and when he didn’t, the young man sighed and said, “Leonard McCoy, here. I’m studying medicine.”

“Your service has been invaluable, Mr. McCoy,” Spock said. “If you believe that Miss Emily and the rest of the party can travel, the shuttle is now arriving in the station.”

“Not the rest of the party, Mr. Spock,” McCoy said, pointing gravely out the window. “Is that who I think it is?”

Spock turned to watch as a monorail pulled out of the station. Staring open-mouthed from a window within the train was the boy, James T. Kirk.

****

In less than three minutes, Spock had fully assessed the situation and had plans in place to contain the disaster. No matter that the boy was obviously difficult to manage; Spock _would_ get blamed if an off-world child, one under his care, no less, was killed or injured while visiting Vulcan. Bad enough that the boy was just, at the moment, lost.

He contacted a former instructor and requested that Surran meet the party at the Learning Center to continue the tour, making sure that everyone made it safely to the consulate afterward. Then he checked the train’s route, and determined it was heading out of the city toward more distant settlements and work zones, out between the Fire Plains and the L-langon Mountains, running parallel to Vulcan’s Forge. He could catch the next train leaving in thirty one minutes, forty-five seconds, but there was no telling where Kirk would get off the train, or if he would even attempt to return on his own. By Spock’s reckoning, thirty-one minutes was entirely too long for Kirk to be left on his own at an out-of-the way stop in the desert. Spock had put the word out along the monorail system to be on the watch for the boy, and to detain him until he could be collected, but he somehow doubted his problem would be solved so easily. No, best to rent a skimmer and fly ahead to each station, attempting to catch up with the boy before he rode all the way out to the temple at Kir.

Calmly, he relayed his plan to Ms. Granger, who stopped wringing her hands long enough to say she would kill that boy if she ever got hold of him again.

Spock could sympathize.

To his surprise, Leonard McCoy volunteered to come with him.

“Your assistance is not required, Mr. McCoy. In fact, it could hinder my ability to expedite the retrieval.”

McCoy shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that, Spock. You’re going to need an extra set of eyes looking for him at each station, not to mention, you might need my medical expertise. Besides, I kind of like the scamp, and I don’t want to see anything bad happen to him.”

Spock was tempted to say that McCoy could come along as long as he remained silent, but suspected that would sound churlish and petty by human standards, and since when had he concerned himself as to how he sounded among humans? It occurred to him that his mother had done this to him deliberately, had set him up to spend an afternoon among his ‘other’ people, so to speak, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have laid the blame of the boy’s disappearance on her as well. He said nothing. Instead he gave a nod of assent, and strode in the direction of the skimmer port. It was a logical course of action.

“You sure about this? Taking a skimmer, I mean?” McCoy was unobtrusively hanging on to an overhead strap as Spock banked a turn out of the station, even though he was buckled into his seat.

“I am a qualified pilot. The skimmers are faster than the monorails. The train young Kirk is on has few stops, but the only one following that route will be stopping to exchange cars, thus delaying us significantly.” Not to mention, once he found the ‘young scamp’ as McCoy had called him, a skimmer would allow him to deposit the miscreant back at the consulate in the shortest possible time frame.

“What’s out here anyway?” McCoy peered through the view screen. Both of them were wearing protective sunglasses, but McCoy still shaded his eyes. “Looks like nothing but sand to me.”

“Sand, temples, places of meditation, wild animals, mining developments, but no major cities or towns. A few settlements have risen around some of the mining territories, but the for the most part, it is uninhabited. Day time temperatures can reach 48 degrees Celsius. Storms are not infrequent, and can last for days.”

“Sounds lovely. I think I’ll build a summer home here.”

“I should tell you that any attempt at humor is wasted on me. I do not understand the concept.”

“Oh, I suspect you understand it better than you let on, otherwise you wouldn’t recognize it. Did you ever stop to think maybe the humor isn’t aimed at you?”

Spock glanced at his passenger. “What do you mean?”

McCoy shrugged. “Humans have a way of defusing tension through humor. It’s not always about you, you know.”

Spock digested that bit of information silently. A button flashed on his communication panel, and he switched it to his headset. As expected, it was his father’s aide, Sartok. He explained the situation, listening while Sartok berated him for leaving his charges in search of the missing boy. Spock, Sartok explained, would have made better use of his energies conducting the remainder of the tour and letting officials retrieve the wanderer.

“I disagree. The remainder of the party did not need my immediate assistance, and Surran was more than capable of dealing with the visitors. I judged time to be of the essence in finding the young boy, and acted accordingly.”

“The local authorities are in better position to locate the boy and bring him back to the city. You should return at once.”

“That action would be most illogical, as I am already in route. In addition, I have brought with me one of the boy’s companions, to aid in the search.”

“You took one of the off-worlders with you in search of the boy? I fail to see the logic in that.”

“The human will know how other humans think and behave. He may be instrumental in reducing the time necessary to locate the boy.”

“What’s done is done.” Sartok said. “Your actions will be reviewed on your return. There has been no word of the boy on the train, but it is still being searched. Sartok out.”

“You got chewed out, eh?” McCoy’s expression seemed sympathetic.

As human idioms went, this one made perfect sense to Spock. “As you can imagine, the diplomatic ramifications of this incident could be grave.”

“To say nothing of something happening to the kid.”

The dryness of McCoy’s drawl made Spock look sharply at him, suspecting he’d missed something important in the last exchange.

They flew in silence for a moment, before McCoy asked, “So why did you leave the others and come haring off after one little troublemaker?”

“He is my responsibility,” Spock said, “and the others did not need me.”

“I’m guessing the guy that drilled you a new one had never heard of The Ninety-nine and The One.”

Spock processed the idiom and noted its appropriateness before frowning slightly. “The Ninety-nine and The One?” he repeated.

“It’s an old Gospel song.” McCoy grinned. Spock suspected that a homily was about to be delivered. He was correct. “It’s about a shepherd that leaves ninety-nine sheep in the flock to go look for the missing lamb.”

“Whereupon he then served it up for dinner?”

McCoy laughed. “I do believe you made a joke, there! Come on, I know all you Vulcans are vegetarians, so you couldn’t have meant that.”

The skimmer bucked as it hit a pocket of turbulence. Spock held it steady, but it was buffeted again. He climbed in altitude, and checked the weather radar. As he feared, the readout indicated several sandstorms were brewing in the region.

“McCoy, if you were the boy, and had discovered yourself on a train heading out of the city on an alien planet, what would you do?”

McCoy tapped the cleft of his chin with a finger. “I’d probably get off at the first stop and try to head back. I knew I’d be in big time trouble, so I might try to stay out of sight and make it back on my own, but either way, I’d get off at the first stop. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless the first stop is nothing but a way station, then I’d probably stay on board. Look, the kid is sharp, if nothing else. He’s not going to disembark on a platform without food or water, and no way of knowing when the next ride is coming through.”

“Agreed.” Spock made the necessary course adjustments and altered his flight plan.

****

 _I’m dead. Dead, dead, dead. I’m in so much trouble_.

The moment the train pulled out of the station, and Jim realized he couldn’t get off in time, he knew that his life was officially over. He could just picture the fuss Ms. Granger would make, and there would be the disappointment and disapproval of his parents, as well as the hard, cold faces of whatever Vulcan authorities would be sent to chase him down.

Maybe, just maybe, if he found his way back without being spotted, he could pretend he’d never left the station at all. That he’d simply gotten turned around, missed the group, and they’d gone off without him. Oh, yeah, that would be perfect. If he could just convince Ms. Granger that she’d left him behind and not the other way around.

But first things first. He’d have to keep out of sight. Fortunately, he had lots of practice with that. His brother, George, often wanted to tag along and horn in on whatever Jim wanted to do. He was good at avoiding George. Avoiding his parents, too, when they wanted him to do his chores. There were lots of places to hide on a train, small places where adults wouldn’t look….

What had gotten him in trouble in the first place proved to be his saving grace. Out of curiosity, he’d followed a group of very young boys, all dressed in tan robes, onto the train. They’d turned out to be novices for some religious order that forbade talking, if you could imagine that. One of the novitiates, determined to tell Jim that he’d best get off the train before it left the station, was forced into breaking his vow in order to do so, which made the others practically shun him. Their non-emotional disapproval was unnerving. Jim thought he’d almost prefer taunting and shoving. It had been a piece of cake to snag a robe from one of the boys. They’d seemed stunned that he would even do such a thing, and Jim had wanted to laugh at the looks they exchanged with each other when he pointed out that they couldn’t rat on him without violating their gag order. His logic had been impeccable, which amused him to no end. He’d blown them a raspberry as he’d darted out of the car.

Once hooded, he walked with his head down, hands folded piously in front of him, until he could duck into one of the storage compartments. There, he assessed his options while the train headed deeper into the desert. The storage unit didn’t have environmental controls, and it felt like an oven. Sweat dripped down his face and he wiped it away before it got in his eyes.

He had a couple of power bars. He had a nearly empty bottle of water. He had very little in the way of credits, as most of their expenses had already been taken care of as part of the school trip. He didn’t have a communicator, either. Emptying his pockets, he found a rubber band, his favorite pocket knife (which Ms. Granger surely would have confiscated, had she known he’d brought it on this trip), a piece of bubble gum, his game tablet, and a small, but very powerful set of binoculars his father had given him last Christmas. That, along with his breather, which he’d kept hidden in his robe, and a small tube of sunscreen, courtesy of Ms. Granger, was all he had.

For a moment, the hopelessness of his situation pressed down on him. He should just give up, go to the nearest official, admit what happened, and return to the city in disgrace.

Then an imp whispered to him. Since he was already going down for his crimes, might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, right?

He was going to get his head handed to him, no two ways about it. But right now he was on an alien planet, and since he’d probably be grounded for the rest of his life, he was going to make the most of it.

****

Spock and McCoy were waiting at the station when the train arrived at the second stop on its journey. Along with them, they had a team of Vulcan security officers. At Spock’s insistence, the train was held while their force swept it, looking for the boy.

“He’s not here,” Spock said after an hour-long search did not turn up a young boy from Earth.

“But he was,” McCoy said, holding up a piece of chewing gum, still in its wrapper.

“Show me.”

Spock followed McCoy to the cramped storage compartment where he’d found the gum. There was evidence the boy had spent some time curled up within, a kind of nest formed where he’d lain. No wonder the train’s personnel had overlooked him. Spock wouldn’t have thought of looking here either. A Vulcan child wouldn’t have dreamed of hiding in such a place.

“Why would he have left?” Spock asked. The boy Kirk could have stayed hidden here indefinitely.

“Someone could have spotted him. You know, going in and out.”

“According to the passengers, no one has seen or spoken to him.”

“And Vulcans never lie, right?”

Spock hesitated before replying. “I believe it is possible, though not likely, for one to be truthful and dishonest at the same time. However, there is no reason for anyone to lie about having seen him.”

“That you _know_ of,” McCoy said, placing a sinister emphasis on the seemingly innocent words. “Okay, so supposing you’re right, and no one saw him…” He trailed off, turning in a tight circle. His glance landed on a small window near the top of the car. Not designed to let in heat or air, just an additional source of light in the compartment. It also just so happened to be in a direct line of sight to where the boy had been resting. “So no one saw him, but maybe he saw something. Something that made him leave the train.”

“At the previous stop.” Spock opened his communicator, signaling the security detail’s commander. “We believe he left the train at the last stop. Notify station personnel to be on the watch for him. We’ll be flying there shortly.”

****

It was the last place he should have gotten off the train. The platform was the only building in sight. He’d stepped onto the stone walkway, head ducked and hood pulled up, but he needn’t have worried. If curiosity killed the cat, then all felines were safe on Vulcan because not a one of them had a curious bone in their bodies.

The train had been in the station for at least fifteen minutes when he’d seen the flash of reflected light on metal. He’d been watching the station personnel unloading cargo in crates, obviously heavy mining equipment, judging from the crawler that was standing by to pick it up. The transaction completed, the driver of the crawler and his assistants had gotten in the large vehicle and driven slowly away. The station personnel had gone back into the building, which was no doubt considerably cooler than the sunbaked walkway.

Jim had been certain it was only a matter of moments before the train moved on, when suddenly, he’d seen it: the brilliant glare of the sun on the metal wings of a skimmer. It had caught his eye because it was so beautiful, but he’d watched in horror as the skimmer spiraled, smoke pluming out of one engine. It headed over a low ridge and disappeared out of sight. Jim had jumped to his feet, gathered his things, and had been out the door in a flash. Fortunately, everyone on board the train had been seated, ready for the progression to the next stop. He’d slipped off the train without anyone noticing. He’d had to duck behind some crates until one of the station masters had re-entered the building, but then he was able to scramble up the short bank behind the building.

There he could see a thin pillar of smoke rising from over the ridge, but even as he watched, the wind whipped up, spitting sand into his face. He ducked his face into his sleeve, and when he lifted it again, the smoke was gone. He got out his binoculars, adjusting for the spectrum of light and the heat, but they only brought whirling dervishes of sand into view.

Had he really seen a skimmer crash? Or was it just a trick of the light? The sun was incredibly harsh. When he looked back at the building, he saw spots in front of his eyes. Right. Maybe he should confirm the crash before reporting it? If there was nothing there, then he could continue pretending to be a novitiate, and hope that a return train was coming back in this direction. He shook off the notion that another train might not come back this way for months. One problem at a time.

A tiny voice suggested maybe there _was_ a crash, and by spotting it, he could potentially save someone’s life. Wouldn’t saving someone’s life sort of make up for being an inadvertent stowaway on a Vulcan train? At any rate, he wouldn’t know until he’d checked it out. The ridge couldn’t be that far. He’d just walk out there, look for signs of a wrecked skimmer, and then return to dutifully report it. Ten minutes, tops.

Replacing the binoculars in his pocket, he noticed the odd square stone formation behind the main building. It had all the makings of an old style well-house. It occurred to him that since this was the only building for miles around, there had to be a source of water for the people who worked here, right? He hurried over to it, and began tugging at the heavy stone slab covering the opening. It was almost too much for him to move, but he finally shifted the lid enough to stretch his arm within. A tiny shower of sand spilled within as he did so. Inside the stone box, the cool, dank smell of water wafted up to him. Eagerly, he refilled the bottle. It had a bit of a funny metallic taste, but he drank it greedily, and then refilled the bottle again. He got to his feet, tucking the bottle into his tunic and wiping his muddy hands on his robe.

He’d gone three steps when he realized he couldn’t leave the well uncovered. Not if it was the only source of water. Grunting with the effort of pushing the slab back in place, he had to lean on it when he was done, blowing hard to get some air.

Right. Breather. He wouldn’t wear it long; he might need it later. But he’d take a few hits of sweet oxygen now and be on his way.

****

The ridge was further than he’d thought. It must be a trick of the desert air. The rise of red stone wavered in front of him in the boiling heat, just steps away one moment, miles in the next. He kept slogging through the crumbling soil. One foot in front of the other. Dirt and sand blowing in air so dry it had sucked all the moisture out of the land. Thin air. Heavy legs.

When he looked back, the building seemed as far away as the ridge now. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Sheep or Lamb. He might as well go on.

****

“Are you sure you can land here?” McCoy was back to being skeptical again.

Spock wondered what would happen if he said, “No, actually, I’m not certified to make a desert landing.” He suspected McCoy would rant and rave, calling on his God, and curse Spock to hell, but that he’d remain relatively calm, for a human, that is. Spock was beginning to learn the nuances of the different humans he’d met this day. McCoy, for all his bluster, was surprisingly reliable.

“The landing will be technically challenging. I will need to concentrate fully on bringing the craft down safely.”

Muttering under his breath, McCoy took hold of the overhead strap again.

Once they were on the ground, McCoy made a show of peeling his fingers open from the strap. As he had when they’d reached the previous station, he paused at the door of the skimmer, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s glare. “Okay, I take it back. You Vulcans have us beat when it comes to heat. It hits you like running into a wall.” He glanced back at Spock. “I’m not just flapping my gums here. If the kid is out in this heat, with no water, and no shade, he could be in serious trouble.”

“You have a gift for stating the obvious.”

McCoy tightened his lips, a sure sign of annoyance. Spock indicated that McCoy should proceed him out of the skimmer, and followed behind him.

The station master had no information. No one had seen the boy.

“Are you sure?” McCoy said, somewhat belligerently. “He doesn’t have a cloak of invisibility, you know. He’s just a kid! You’re telling me no one has seen him at all?”

“A young boy from Earth would have been noticeable, remarkable, even.” The station master was impassive, unaffected by McCoy’s ire.

Spock could sympathize, just a bit, with McCoy.

McCoy, however, jerked his head up at the station master’s words and snapped his fingers. “A young boy from Earth, yes, yes, you’d notice him. But what about one of your own? What about a kid from Vulcan?”

Spock turned to McCoy, lifting one eyebrow.

“I couldn’t help notice those kids dressed for the monastery back on the train. If Kirk was wearing one of those robes, he could pass for a whatchamacall’em, a novice, at a distance.”

“A novitiate was here at the station earlier. One of the cargo handlers mentioned seeing him. However, no one matching that description has been seen in the last hour. One would presume that someone was here to meet him.”

“If he really _was_ a monk wanna-be,” said McCoy. “Where could he have gone? On his own, I mean. On foot?”

“I do not know.” The station master was calmly emphatic.

“Guess,” McCoy snapped.

“Vulcans do not guess.” Both Spock and the station master spoke simultaneously.

McCoy threw his hands up in the air and stormed outside.

“It would seem to me the impending decision of the High Council on withdrawing from the Federation is long overdue,” said the station master, watching as McCoy walked up and down the platform, kicking dirt in his path.

“Agreed,” said Spock.

As they watched, McCoy went to the edge of the building and disappeared from view.

“If you will excuse me.” Spock didn’t quite hurry, but he didn’t want to lose another one of his charges, either.

He needn’t have been concerned.

“Spock!”

The shout came from behind the building. This time Spock did break into a run, hoping that the boy had been found at last.

Instead, he found McCoy kneeling beside the well-housing.

“I think he’s been here. Someone disturbed the cover, but they couldn’t quite put it back in place. And see here, aren’t those footprints? They’d be about the right size.” McCoy pointed along the path the indistinct smudges had taken, out into the desert.

Spock scanned the skyline. Nothing as far as the eye could see. Nothing but the distant ridge. “Why would he have gone into the desert?”

“I don’t know,” McCoy admitted, “but my gut tells me he did.”

“One does not make logical decisions based on one’s ‘gut’, McCoy.”

“Humans may not be all that logical, Spock, but we’ve got damned good instincts. Don’t toss away a tool just because you don’t understand it. Besides, you have any other bright ideas?”

“No.” Spock surveyed the bleak landscape, then took a closer look at the soil beneath their feet. The marks did appear to be footprints. “We will follow this trail.”

“I don’t suppose you can fly the skimmer out to the ridge, can you?”

“Not to land, the ground is too rocky, but we can look for him from the air."

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

****

When he finally reached the top of the ridge, Jim collapsed face down into the dirt. That proved far too hard to breathe, however, so he rolled onto his back, clapping on the breather until his vision cleared. When he could finally sit up, he gulped down some water, taking care not to finish the bottle. He’d need some on the way back, after all.

He didn’t want to think about that at the moment.

He was tempted to dump his robes. He was soaked with sweat, and broiling inside the heavy clothing, but he suspected that there was a reason the Vulcans wore them. There was a small amount of shade here on the ridge, in some brushy, not-quite trees. Even a little break from the beating hammer of the sun was welcome. Maybe he should think about waiting here until it got cooler before trying to head back. There was no way now his absence hadn’t been noticed. Ms. Granger was probably turning the entire planet inside out looking for him.

Or maybe not. Maybe no one was looking for him. He had a knack of making himself a pain in the butt, after all. There were times he sensed that even his parents were exhausted trying to keep up with him. He couldn’t help it. Things just seemed to happen around him. He wasted a single tear on feeling sorry for himself before he realized he probably just needed to eat something. Recognizing that digestion would require precious water that he couldn’t spare, he only allotted himself a couple of bites of a power bar before folding it back in its wrapper and putting it away.

“Right,” he said aloud. “Now let’s see if there’s anything out here.”

Lying on his belly, he focused the binoculars on the plain below. He saw nothing at first. Nothing but the great expanse of red dirt. He was just about to give up the whole thing as an incredibly stupid waste of time when the wind danced over a mound of sand, causing it to shift. Underneath, something gleamed. Excitement caused him to forget his exhaustion and near heat-stroke; he adjusted his binoculars. Yes! It was a skimmer, partially buried in sand. Even as he watched, the winds grew stronger, and more sand piled up against its side.

Right. Waiting until dark was out of the question, now. Unless…

Unless the pilot was dead. In fact, if Jim went down and checked it out personally, he could determine if he needed to rush back for help or if he could wait until sundown. Oh! Even better, he could use the radio to summon help! Why didn’t he think of that before! The sun definitely must be melting his brains. Staggering to his feet, he put the binoculars away and began to pick his way carefully down the slope of the ridge, boots sliding in the deep, loose soil.

What if the pilot was dead? What if the pilot was smashed to bits, face all bloody and organs and stuff hanging out? The thought caught him as he was making his way down the slope, and for an instant, he thought about turning back.

The more he thought about it, though, the more he knew he really didn’t have a choice. He approached the downed skimmer like one of his uncle’s horses inching up on a water trough in winter when the heater had a short. The horse wanted water, but was afraid of getting shocked.

He had no choice.

He was still a good distance away when he saw something move near the front of the skimmer. Flattening himself to the ground, he whipped out the binoculars again. There, just at the nose of the downed craft, something flapped in the breeze. Cloth of some sort. A scarf? No, a hood. The kind of hood they had on the desert suits he’d seen.

As he worked to bring the object in focus, he suddenly caught the gleam of sunlight on bronzed hair. With a gasp, he spun the dials until he could clearly make out T’la’s face. To his relief, he saw her try to rise, but she only made it a few inches before collapsing back to the ground. At least she was alive! Jim scrabbled to his feet, half-stumbling in a run toward the skimmer, only to stagger to a halt when something roared ferociously up ahead. It sounded exactly like the monster in the old Godzilla movies, and it made his heart freeze into stone before thudding painfully in his chest again.

As he stood stock-still in terror, a huge mottled cat-like creature came out of the brush, walking slowly toward the crash-site. It had long fangs like a saber-tooth tiger, and wickedly black nails on each foot.

It was headed straight for T’la.

****

“There!” McCoy shouted, pointing at the ground ahead. “That looks like a crash-site.”

“There is no need to raise your voice. Vulcans have very acute hearing.” Spock managed, just barely, not to wince. “I am picking up the wreckage of a skimmer on the scanner. Thermal signature indicates it went down between one to two of your Earth standard hours ago. I am picking up two life signs… no, make that three…”

“There!” McCoy gesticulated wildly, still failing to moderate his volume. “There he is!”

Spock glanced up from his readouts to see the boy that he’d been looking for, running down a slope, waving his arms. From the way he stooped and then hurled something away from him, he appeared to be throwing rocks, as well. The prone body in front of the skimmer was the second life sign. And the third?

“What the hell is _that_?” McCoy breathed, obviously shocked.

Ah. That would be the third life sign. Spock felt an odd sinking sensation in his intestines. “That is a _le-mayta_. Native to these foothills. Very dangerous. Poisonous fangs and claws. At this time, there is no cure.”

“Why is he running _toward_ it?” McCoy’s voice sounded anguished, and Spock could hardly blame him. They’d come so far, so close to safely rescuing the boy.

“Brace yourself.”

He sent the skimmer into a diving run.

****

“Yah!” Jim roared, waving his arms as he ran down the slope toward the ugly beast. “Yah!”

He whooped and hollered, snatching up fistfuls of pebbles to fling them in his path, making as much noise as possible. The giant cat, which had been making a beeline for T’La where she lay, flattened its ears and crouched low to the ground, lifting one massive forepaw defensively. Still, Jim ran forward, giving the sort of undulating cry he’d heard on an old, old episode of _Xena: Warrior Princess_. The cat hesitated, but then began backing up. It was in the process of turning tail when the whine of an engine bore down from above. Jim had just enough time to throw himself to the ground before the backwash of the skimmer threw him off his feet. The big cat ran off back into the brushy desert.

Jim blinked the sand out of his eyes, and dug out the breather, taking several deep breaths before he was able to stagger the rest of the way toward T’La. There, he could see why she’d been unable to get up. A large piece of metal had her leg skewered to the ground. It made Jim just a little queasy to look at it, but he fought back the nausea and moved closer.

Her eyes opened at the sound of his approach. She was obviously in pain. It took him a second to realize the dark green stains on her face was blood. She was still breathtakingly beautiful.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, when he held out his precious bottle of water.

“Rescuing you.” He smiled at her.

“I do not need rescuing. I am perfectly capable of attending to myself.” She took the water, just the same.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, I should just go on back to the station, then? You don’t want me to call for help or something?"

She grunted as she pushed herself up on her elbows. She sipped from his bottle, then set it aside to glance dispassionately at her pinned leg. “You should not be out here. It is not safe. The _le-mayta_ will be back.”

“Is that what it’s called? Cool.” He squatted beside her in the dirt, resting his elbows on his filthy knees. To his relief, he saw two figures coming at them at a run, one obviously Vulcan. The other, lagging behind and wheezing like a bellows, appeared to be Georgia.

“I do not need your assistance.” T’La’s voice was firmer this time. “Go back to the station. These men can aid me, if necessary.”

“Oh, them.” Jim shrugged. “They’re with me.”

She stared at him a moment, and then suddenly barked, “Get down!”

Her words seemed not intended just for him.

He hit the dirt without question, peeking through his fingers to see Spock shoulder Georgia aside, forcing them both to the ground as well. Behind them, the _le-mayta_ was in a flat-out sprint straight toward them. No doubt, the fact that they were running toward the wreck incited the cat to go after them. Jim heard the whine of a phaser charging, and held his breath as the big cat leapt toward the two men on the ground. The shot caught the cat full in the chest, and with a terrible roar, it vaporized.

Jim turned to congratulate T’La on the great shot, only to see her slump back to the ground, the gun falling from her lax hand.

****

It had taken some creative shuttling to get everyone back to the station. Georgia refused to leave his patient, and there wasn’t enough room to transport everyone back in Spock’s skimmer. Georgia pointed out they’d need a medical transport of some sort; he couldn’t risk attempting to pull the piece of metal out of T’la’s leg, as that might cause life-threatening blood loss. Somehow, they’d have to unstick her from the ground and get her back to the station. How best to move T’la was a matter of some debate. She roused to join in the discussion, taking matters into her own hands by wrenching up the piece of metal out of the dirt, leaving it embedded in her leg.

“Now you can move me,” she said, closing her eyes once more.

Jim fell just a little bit in love.

In the end, Spock took Jim back with him to the skimmer to radio for help. If Spock dragged him along by the arm a bit roughly, it was probably only because Jim was running out of steam. He found it hard to keep up with the Vulcan’s long-legged stride. Jeeze Louise, didn’t these guys ever get hot?

The interior of the skimmer seemed deliciously cool compared to the desert outside.

“Why do you think T’La was out in the desert in the first place?” Jim asked, looking curiously around in the skimmer as they boarded it. He was still running high on adrenaline, though he felt just the slightest bit shaky.

“I do not know. It is not necessary for me to know.” Spock radioed the station, asking them to send medical assistance in the form of a transport, and to inform the various search parties that the boy had been safely recovered. He spoke in a monotone, no indication of relief or concern. Just a dry recitation of facts. His tunic was no longer snowy-white, but stained with red dirt and green blood, and yet he seemed utterly calm and collected.

“Georgia says those _le-mayta_ creatures are poisonous. That one swipe with their claw and you’re dead. No treatment. How come you guys haven’t come up with a treatment?”

“If by Georgia, you mean Leonard McCoy, you are both correct. As to why there is no antidote, the poison, in its raw form, has proven singularly difficult to obtain.”

Jim got the impression Spock was being a bit snippy with him. Undaunted, he said, “I don’t see why you have to be the size of a lion and poisonous. That doesn’t make any sense. If it swatted you, you’re dead no matter what. Poison seems like a bit of overkill, if you ask me.” A moment of glee struck him. “It’s not _logical_.”

“ _Le-mayta_ feed on sandworms.” Spock began his pre-flight checks, performing additional scans to assess the on board systems after the hard landing the skimmer had taken.

“So? I’ve seen your sandworms. Dinky little things you feed to other things, like Pyrithian bats.”

Spock stood up. Taking Jim by the arm, he steered him effortlessly into a seat. He bent down, locking eyes with Jim, daring him to look away. “What you have seen are mere larvae. In the desert, Vulcan sandworms can grow to the size of one of your Earth humpback whales, with teeth as big as you are.”

“Oh.” Suddenly the enormity of what he’d done today struck him. His stomach took a free fall down to his heavy, heavy feet, and the room spun slightly. “Mr. Spock—” he began.

“Sit here and be _silent_.” Spock’s tone brooked no argument. He opened a small compartment, and without a word, Spock handed him a bottle of greenish liquid. It was cool to the touch, with beads of condensation on it. Before Jim could ask what it was, Spock said, “To rehydrate and replace your electrolytes. Sip it slowly. Do not gulp it down or it will come back up again.”

Jim accepted it gratefully. The first sip was awful. He shot a glare in Spock’s direction, but he only raised that eyebrow again, as if challenging Jim to complain. When Spock turned back to his assessment of the skimmer, Jim took another swallow. It was still vile, but it was cold and wet, and his body seemed to want it.

Spock did not speak to him again until after the transport shuttle had arrived to take T’la and Geor—okay, McCoy—to the Medical Institute. After Jim had been treated on the shuttle for mild dehydration, hypoglycemia, and heat exhaustion, the decision was made for Spock to take him back to the consulate via the skimmer. Though he’d been looking forward to seeing Vulcan from the air, to marvel at the harsh stone pillars and canyons carved by the wind and sand, within a short period of takeoff, Jim was dozing. It felt as though he’d only closed his eyes a second when he started at the sound of Spock’s words.

“We will be landing shortly.”

Groggily, Jim sat up, rubbing his eyes. His face felt hot, like he was running a fever, and he knew he had probably gotten sunburned. He found himself dreading returning to the auspices of Ms. Granger, of finding out what his parents thought of his latest escapade. He felt like he owed Spock an apology, too. Whether or not the stubborn Vulcan would accept it. Since starting with a preamble hadn’t worked before, he simply cut to the chase. “I’m sorry I caused so much trouble today.”

Spock didn’t look at him, concentrating on the skimmer’s approach to the consulate’s landing port. “You did indeed cause a great deal of trouble today. The ramifications of which may be greater than you know.”

“You mean that someone will point to this and say, ‘See, I told you we shouldn’t hang out with off-worlders.’ That it’ll be used as an excuse for you guys to pack up your toys and go home.”

Spock appeared to be considering his words. “A colorful way of putting it, but essentially correct.”

“Huh,” Jim said. “So much for your grand philosophy.”

That tiny furrow appeared on Spock’s forehead again, and that one eyebrow arched. Jim wondered if he practiced doing that in the mirror at home to get that look of questioning superiority just right. “To what do you refer?”

“You know, your IDIC.” Jim made finger quotes, rolling his eyes. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations? Guess you mean only on Vulcan. The rest of the universe is too diverse for you.”

Spock blinked at him. The remainder of the journey proceeded in silence.

****

T’Pau remained seated at the conference table as T’La walked into the room, carefully favoring one leg. The sun shone down in giant beams of light from the windows above, and it created a curious effect as T’la walked through the contrasting bands of light and shadow, almost like a series of still photographs were being taken. Now she was backlit with gold, now she was shrouded in shadow. Today, she was dressed in the robes of a junior council member, as befitting her rank. T’Pau waited until T’la was within a polite distance before speaking.

“I trust you are healing well?”

T’la inclined her head. “It is but a minor injury.”

“It is unfortunate that your ship malfunctioned. Were you able to complete the mission?”

“Yes. I was on the return flight when the sandstorm occurred. It was impossible to remain flightworthy once the skimmer was struck by the electrical discharge.”

“I am not condemning the crash of your skimmer, T’la.” T’Pau’s voice was mild. “Merely attempting to verify information.”

T’la inclined her head again. “The ‘inventory’ was delivered.”

“Good. I need not point out to you that our reformed government, and the return to the core teachings of Surak, is a relatively recent development, as such things go. Heretical teachings, which cannot be authenticated or disproven, might well be disruptive to the progress we’ve made. It is best that such works remain hidden at this time. The monks will know what to do with the artifacts. When the time is right, they will be revealed.”

“And if the time is never right?” T’La asked, somewhat archly.

“Then the time is never right.” T’Pau glanced in the direction of the door. “Are the others waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Then let’s get this over with. I would prefer to have the humans leave as soon as possible."

T’la nodded, and crossed back to the door, opening it to make her announcement. “Spock. Leonard McCoy. James T. Kirk. T’Pau will see you now.”

T’Pau could see a rather large contingent of people in the corridor, many of them extremely harried-looking people from the Earth delegation. She watched as T’La blocked Ms. Granger from entering the room, when she would have followed Kirk inside. “Just the three named.”

“I am not letting this boy out of my sight,” Ms. Granger snapped. “Not after everything that’s happened."

“Just the three,” T’La repeated. She was an immovable stone. T’Pau could appreciate the usefulness of having T’la enforce her policies for her. Among other things, it was difficult for T’Pau to leave the city unnoticed these days. She thought of her dealings with Captain Archer, and the unique bullheadedness of humans that could also sometimes be a useful tool, and looked forward to interviewing the young boy. If nothing else, it would prove interesting.

“You _behave_ yourself in there, Jim Kirk.” Ms. Granger’s warning was high-pitched and angry, reminding T’Pau of a nest of _pithra_ ants. “You’ve single-handedly done more harm to Vulcan-Human relations than the entire human race combined!”

T’la shut the door in her face.

T’Pau watched with interest as the three approached her. It had been some time since she’d had any face to face dealings with humans. Spock, despite his attempt to be otherwise, was sadly influenced by his genetics, though she had hopes yet that he would be the better man because of it. The young man, McCoy, looked uncomfortable and out of place. It was the boy that fascinated her, however, more than she cared to admit. So much trouble caused by such a seemingly innocent face.

“Approach,” she said, aware of her imperious tone. When the three were lined up in front of her, she asked of the humans, “Do you know who I am?”

Leonard McCoy cut a sideways glance at his companions before speaking. “Well, ma’am. You’re a highly respected member of the Vulcan government. The only person to have ever turned down a seat on the Federation Council as well.”

She knew that ‘ma’am’ was an honorific among some humans, denoting respect. “And you, boy. Who do you think I am?”

The boy lifted his head and met her gaze squarely. Interesting. So much fire and grit in one so young. His fair skin had sunburned, and would peel later. His eyes were a curious color, so different from that of most Vulcans. They were pale gold, like that of the Earth creature called a lion, and yet, when the light changed, there were flashes of green as well. Tawny hair fell over his eyes, increasing the similarity to that lion, though still a cub. An attractive child, by the standards of his people.

“You’re the lady who’ll decide if Vulcan pulls out of the Federation or not.” For a child, he had an unusual presence, particularly for a human. There was a challenge in his voice, as though daring her to make good on the threat. She watched Spock shoot a glance in the boy’s direction before resuming his blank expression again.

The boy’s answer surprised her, but then again, there was probably much speculation among the humans as to which way the Vulcan High Council would vote. No doubt, the adults in his life had impressed upon him the importance of the impending vote, and had expressed concerns that he not do anything to adversely affect it, at least, as far as Earth was concerned. Perhaps they already thought that his escapades had negatively impacted the vote. Humans. So frequently putting an emotional spin on their decision-making. Given the way their media had whipped up rhetoric in the decades leading up to WW3 on their planet, it was perhaps to be expected, after all.

“It is not my decision alone,” she said, “but my opinion carries great weight. So tell me, young Kirk. Why should Vulcan remain in the Federation?” She wasn’t sure why she asked. Perhaps she just wanted to hear the boy’s opinion.

“You shouldn’t. Not if you don’t want to be there. Hanging around, rolling your eyes at the rest of us, hating us because we’re different. We don’t want you if you’re going to be like that.”  
Leonard McCoy covered his eyes with one hand.

“Vulcans do not hate, but I believe I understand your meaning. Do you, then, James T. Kirk, speak for the people of Earth?”

He made an extraordinary face, which she took to be a grimace. “Of course not. I’m just a kid. But you don’t have to be a genius to see we can’t keep you if you don’t want to be there. And we shouldn’t try.” He paused, showing the first sign of hesitation before speaking again. “But you’d be doing yourself a disservice if you left.”

Spock tensed up. T’Pau ignored him, prodding the boy once more. “And how exactly would that be?”

“You’d have to change your philosophy about diversity. You’d have to call it finite diversity in finite combinations, as decided by All Things Vulcan. I mean, that’s your choice and all, but it’s not what you say you guys are all about.”

She believed the Earthers had a phrase: out of the mouths of babes. For the first time, she understood it.

Cogitating on the implications of the boy’s words, she changed the subject by first questioning Spock, then Leonard McCoy, about the events that had taken place when Kirk had wandered away from his group. Spock delivered his information concisely, tonelessly. McCoy stammered, and his recounting was full of unusual words, such as ‘y’all’, and peppered with more ‘ma’am’s.’ Finally, she turned to Jim Kirk.

The boy’s story was somewhat unbelievable, at least, it would have been for any Vulcan of the same age. She suspected human children were developmentally slow, something that seemed at odds with their shorter lifespans. And yet there was a certain consistency to it that made it hard to refute. At any rate, it was apparent he’d seen or heard nothing regarding the texts T’la had secretly delivered. T’la herself remained impassive as Kirk shot her admiring glances from time to time. Ah, so perhaps not entirely developmentally backward.

There was one aspect of everyone’s story, however, that bore further questioning.

“You were aware that a _le-mayta_ was stalking T’la when you approached the downed skimmer, and yet you charged it, why?”

Impossibly, the boy grew even redder. “I thought T’la was in danger. She couldn’t get up and that animal was acting hungry.”

“You were aware it was a dangerous creature?” It seemed impossible to think the boy had been unaware of the risk, and yet how else could you explain his actions?

“Yes, I mean, well, I didn’t know it was poisonous, but I took one look at it and knew it would eat me, given the chance.”

“And yet you attacked it. You ran at it, threatening it. Why?”

The boy dug the point of his boot into the tiled floor. “Well, the way I saw it, everything on Vulcan is logical, right? So, this cat, he’s never met anyone who wasn’t logical before. So I figured if I ran at it like I was going to beat it up, it would think I probably _could_ beat it up, since no one in their right mind would go after it otherwise.”

“Fascinating,” Spock said, speaking for the first time since he entered the room.

“I swear to God, that boy could talk a computer into committing suicide,” McCoy said, in a voice two parts admiring and one part disbelieving.

“You are presuming a certain level of reasoning on the part of the _le-mayta_ ,” T’La interjected.

The boy, Kirk, shrugged. “Everything on Vulcan is smart.”

T’Pau could only hope the boy was right.

****

Three days later, Leonard McCoy was seeing Jim off at the landing station.

“Do you still think your parents are going to kill you?” He smiled at Jim, taking some of the sting out of the words.

Jim hunched his shoulders. “Maybe not kill me, but I’m probably grounded for the next six months, if not longer.” He sighed. The subspace communiques between him and his parents had been only somewhat mitigated by the time it took for each message to be transmitted and received, but they’d come at him from both sides, with his father’s disappointment in him being the worst. Jim could only hope that by the time his father came home from Starfleet on leave, he’d have forgotten somewhat how mad he was with his son. The only good thing about being sent home in disgrace was that Ms. Granger had washed her hands of him. He wasn’t staying with the rest of the class and returning with them as planned. Alternative arrangements had been made so that he would be shipped home with all due speed, and that meant he was being picked up by a Constellation class starship, which was beyond exciting, only he’d probably spend most of the trip home confined to quarters or assigned a babysitter.

McCoy clapped him on the shoulder. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much, kid. Hey, check it out. Isn’t that Spock?”

It was.

Spock was once again dressed in pristine white, and seemed completely, serenely under control as he approached them.

“Hey, Spock. What brings you here?”

“I thought perhaps it would interest young Kirk here to know the High Command voted today on whether to secede from the Federation.”

Having all the blood leave your face was an odd sensation. He stood by his opinion that the Vulcans couldn’t and shouldn’t be forced to stay in the Federation if they didn’t want to be there, but at the same time, he didn’t want to go down in history as the kid who caused Vulcan to break ties with the rest of the galaxy.

“And?” McCoy asked impatiently, for which Jim was eminently grateful.

Spock looked directly at Jim as he spoke. “T’Pau made a strong argument for remaining within the Federation. She spoke of the dangers of becoming too insular, should Vulcan secede. I believe her exact words were, ‘We might as well change our motto to finite diversity in finite combinations if we fail to embrace the diversity that lies beyond our borders.’ It was a good speech."

“And?" McCoy prompted again, though this time he was grinning like a fiend.

“And the High Council decided that she was right. Vulcan will remain a part of the Federation at this time.”

“Well, that’s great news, right, Spock?” McCoy was jovial, like everyone’s favorite uncle.

“I believe it is the right decision.”

The relief that coursed through Jim was almost overwhelming. All’s well that ends well. Now maybe _finally_ , Ms. Granger would get off his case.

“James T. Kirk, please report to transporter pad 12. Your transport awaits you,” the station speaker announced.

“So, I guess this is goodbye.” McCoy sounded oddly reluctant.

Jim was reluctant, too. It didn’t seem possible that he’d step onto a transporter pad and never see either of these two people again. So he decided that it _wasn’t_ possible, and that, if he had any say so in the matter, it wouldn’t be the last time they met.

“For now,” Jim said with supreme confidence. “When I’m captain of my own ship, though, I’ll need a good doctor and first officer. So you two keep that in mind.”

McCoy shook his head, laughing softly. “Don’t hold your breath, kid. It takes a helluva long time to make captain of a starship, if ever. My career will probably be halfway over before you make list. As for Spock here, Vulcans don’t join Starfleet all that often.”

Spock looked him directly in the eye. “I believe it is possible for you to do anything you set your mind to, Mr. Kirk. Your teachers speak highly of your intelligence. It is your inability to focus that will limit your ability to meet your goals.” He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the possibilities. “You will have to work much harder at your scholastic endeavors than you have to date.”

Jim thought about what Spock had said, and knew he was right. If he wanted to be a starship captain, then he needed to grow up—starting now. “Deal.”

The eyebrow went up. “I do not believe playing cards at this juncture will help you attain your goals.”

“He’s not suggesting you play poker with him, Spock,” McCoy hastened to explain. “It’s a figure of speech. He means—”

“He knows what I mean.” Jim grinned widely. “He made a joke, McCoy. A Vulcan joke.”

The station speaker came on again. “James T. Kirk, please report to transporter pad 12.”

Down the platform, Jim saw several officials from Earth pointing at him and moving in his direction with determination.

“I’ll be the youngest person to ever to captain a starship, you watch me. I’ll be seeing both of you again, so you’d better make sure you’re ready for me.” He hefted his duffle bag and gave a small salute as he started to walk away.

“It will probably take both of us to ensure your safety—and that of the galaxy, as well.” Spock spoke without any trace of sarcasm. He only wondered what his father would have to say about his deciding to make a career out of Starfleet. Because in that moment, Spock knew his place was at Kirk’s side, however long it took for Kirk to make good on his promises.

“Whew, boy,” McCoy breathed. “I guess this is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

~fin


End file.
